


Long After Midnight

by thepartyresponsible



Series: Shatter Together [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21787060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepartyresponsible/pseuds/thepartyresponsible
Summary: The knock on the window makes Jason flinch, but it takes another thirty seconds to gather the coordination to lift his head.Clint’s crouched on the fire escape, looking windblown and skeptical. There’s awhat the fuck?sort of expression on his face that indicates he was responsible for all that noise from the door awhile back. Jason had ignored it, figured it for another hallucination.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Jason Todd
Series: Shatter Together [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570099
Comments: 57
Kudos: 787





	Long After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on tumblr as a fill for [arsenicjade](https://arsenicjade.tumblr.com/), who asked for sick Jason.
> 
> The title is taken from "Shatter Together" by My Jerusalem.

The knock on the window makes Jason flinch, but it takes another thirty seconds to gather the coordination to lift his head.

Clint’s crouched on the fire escape, looking windblown and skeptical. There’s a _what the fuck?_ sort of expression on his face that indicates he was responsible for all that noise from the door awhile back. Jason had ignored it, figured it for another hallucination. 

“Sorry,” Jason says, or means to. He starts coughing instead, and then there’s another long, shitty, stretched-out moment of him just rattling all the bones in his chest while his brain throws up panic signals, insists it’s not getting enough oxygen even though he’s doing his Goddamn best.

When Jason gets his eyes open again, Clint’s gone.

“Fuck you anyway,” Jason says and rolls over onto his back.

He takes a breath, listens to his lungs.

He has to patrol tonight. Bruce has been known to get hysterical when he’s gone for longer than twenty-four hours.

He’s thinking about that – about Bruce, and patrol, and how likely it is that he’s going to pass out at some point because he can’t walk to the fridge without getting fuzzy around the edges – when someone starts picking the lock on his door.

“Shit,” he says and bullies himself into halfway sitting up. He grabs for the gun on the bedside table, but he misses twice before his fingers finally make contact, managing somehow to knock the gun even farther away. When he lifts his head, Clint’s already inside, staring at him.

“Could’ve shot you,” Jason says.

“Yeah, I took a risk.” Clint has the grace not to laugh in his face. He’s always been something of a sweetheart.

“Can’t fool around,” Jason tells him, falling face-first back into the sheets. “Dying.”

“Noticed.”

There’s a faint, busy rustling from the kitchen, and Jason closes his eyes, listens to Clint moving around the apartment. Clint doesn’t end up in Gotham often, and it’s been nice, this semi-regular thing they have. Jason’s going to beat the hell out of Scarecrow the next time he sees him, maybe induce just enough brain damage to dial back the lethality of his next chemical creation.

This one had been bad enough.

Jason’s not sure if the low growl of his voice is thanks to the coughing or all the screaming that preceded it. He just knows that it’s not especially sportsmanlike to lace a fear toxin with something that goes after the lungs, brings chemical pneumonia or bronchitis to a party that’s already overcrowded with terror.

He’d put his mask on the first kid he saw, and he doesn’t regret it. He’d damn sure do it again. But recovery has been an absolute bitch.

“Here.” Clint’s hands are cool on his face, pushing his hair back, lifting his chin. “Sit up for me.”

“Not fucking kidding,” Jason grumbles, even as he drags himself part way up. “Will choke on your dick and die, asshole. Batman’d be so pissed. He’d probably, like. Give you a stern lecture.”

He’s gasping by the end of it, but he’s never let the Joker muzzle him, so he’s sure as shit not going to let Crane.

“Uh-huh,” Clint says, encouragingly. “Drink this.”

You’d think, given his recent history of nonconsenting drug use, he’d have the good sense to be wary about knocking back whatever’s in that dosage cup. But Jason just flicks his eyes up to Clint’s worried frown, and then he’s downing the whole thing like it’s a tequila shot after a bad patrol.

“Mm,” he says. “Tastes like codeine. Did you rob a pharmacy for me?”

“You just have to sign for it,” Clint says. There’s a brief pause as he takes the cup back, presses his palm flat against Jason’s forehead. “I did use a fake ID,” he adds, almost conciliatory.

“Rebel,” Jason says, leaning into steadying coolness of Clint’s touch. “Miscreant, hooligan. Soon as I can stand, I’m doing a citizen’s arrest.”

“Guess I’d better stick around for that,” Clint says. “Think you’ll be up to it tomorrow?”

“Tonight,” Jason says. Clint snorts, and Jason makes a face back without ever opening his eyes. “Gotta patrol. Gotta make sure these shitheads don’t murder each other.”

Clint’s quiet for minute. He settles beside Jason on the bed, tugs him so that he’s half-propped up, shoulders against Clint’s chest. Jason’s not sure if it’s the angle or the heat that makes it easier to breath, but he takes a deep breath, and it doesn’t catch at all.

“I’ll go,” Clint says. “Run your patrol. Whatever.”

“Bullshit,” Jason says, immediately. “Bullshit you will. Why the fuck would you do that?”

Clint hums. He presses a kiss to Jason’s temple, wraps his arms around him.

Jason just spent twelve hours sweating through every scrap of adrenaline his body had, screaming at his own brain, and then topped it off with another eighteen hours coughing and shaking, fever-ridden. He’s sweaty and gross, has to smell like a nightmare. He has no idea why the hell Clint’s staying in the same room, much less crawling right into bed with him.

“Why would you do that?” Jason prompts him again. It’s hard to focus. The cough syrup’s already closing the blinds in his mind, and he knows he can’t take much of it, has to cough this out and gets his lungs right, but it’ll be good to sleep. It’ll be nice, letting himself rest.

“Yeah,” Clint says, dry, amused, maybe a little embarrassed. “That’s a real mystery.”

“The fuck’s that mean?” Jason asks, eyes closing, head falling back against Clint’s chest.

“Means get some sleep.”

Jason’s going to ask again, can’t ever let anything go, but Clint kisses him, warmth and breath ghosting across the side of Jason’s face, and he doesn’t want to break this, doesn’t want to ruin it.

He holds onto it, lets everything else drift.


End file.
